


Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

by alliaskofyou, TryingToMystrade (TryingToScribble)



Series: Friends, Foes, and Festivities [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Making Up, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 02:07:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13136889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alliaskofyou/pseuds/alliaskofyou, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TryingToScribble/pseuds/TryingToMystrade
Summary: Everyone is in pain, but they're working through it. Together.





	Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

He knew he would run into Mycroft; he just didn’t think it would be immediately after he steps out of the cab. Dread billows in his stomach like the turbulent wind blowing the snow in sporadic spirals. He braces himself against it. Mycroft turns as soon as he hears the cab door shut. He remains stoic, turning back to the door of 221B and knocking quite harshly against the wood, presumably not for the first time, considering his increasing frustration; however, that could also be because of Greg’s appearance. 

 

Greg reluctantly climbs the steps and remembers the last time he saw him. 

 

_ Greg storms into their flat, not able to accurately pin the exact emotion he feels. All he knows is he is overwhelmed by them and the fact that Sherlock is alive and well...and that his boyfriend knew. He sees Mycroft nursing scotch on the couch and it takes all the power in him to not rip the glass from his hands and throw it against the wall.  _

 

_ “You knew,” he spits.  _

 

_ Mycroft sets down his glass, stands, and shakes his head as if chastising a child, further igniting Greg’s fury. “Gregory, I had t-” _

 

_ “Bull shit. You could have found a way around this, around all the pain you put them through.” Greg clenches and unclenches his fists and paces, occasionally glaring at Mycroft’s calm exterior. He wants him to see how badly this has hurt everyone. God, does he even care? _

 

_ “And I - God, Myc, you knew I blamed myself for his death, knew how I felt I could’ve controlled Anderson and Donovan more, could have supported him more, could have done something, anything.” Greg scoffs, “You even consoled me and reassured me it wasn’t my fault -” _

 

_ “Because, as you can see, it wasn’t.” _

 

_ Greg knows that deep down Mycroft does care, that the pain he put his brother through kills him, that he blames himself for all of the pain everyone feels (even his own), and that he is afraid to expose it because the guilt will devour him; but Greg’s feelings of betrayal clouds his thoughts. He stops pacing and faces Mycroft.“You know that’s not the point, Mycroft.” _

 

_ Mycroft flinches at Greg’s use of his full name. He’s never, not since their relationship started, called him anything but “Myc.” He feels the implied meaning behind it, the impending departure and he decides to end this now, to be the one that does it so he can feel more in control of the pain he will feel. He hardens his features and “I think you should leave.” _

 

_ Greg freezes, it feels like every limb in his body is filled with cement. He can’t think. He can barely breathe. His eyes sting, but he blinks profusely to keep the tears at bay. He can’t lose it now, only when he’s grasping a bottle of gin and in a horribly furnished motel room. “I think you’re right.” _

 

Standing next to him now, Greg realizes how much he’s missed Mycroft. The last week in the motel has been miserable. He misses waking up to Mycroft cuddled into his chest, misses Mycroft’s amazing scrambled eggs, misses coming home from a difficult case to lay his head in Mycroft’s lap as Mycroft plays with his hair and “allows” him to watch Doctor Who (he’s convinced Mycroft actually loves the show, especially the Twelfth Doctor). 

 

“Greg.”

 

“Mycroft.”

 

“It seems my brother and John are too occupied with each other to answer their door for their own party.”

 

“Well, that makes sense since, you know, since they’ve had so little time together over the past few years.” Mycroft stiffens and Greg immediately regrets his biting retort. “I shouldn’t have sa-”

 

Mycroft gives him a tight-lipped smile. “No need to apologize. It was well deserved.”

 

“Myc-”

 

“Greg-”

 

The door opens to a curious John and a smirking Sherlock. “Welcome!”

 

\---

 

John leans against the counter next to Greg and passes him a glass of whiskey. Greg nods his thanks and sips quietly, hoping John won’t try to make too much conversation. Even the smallest small talk seems unbearable at the moment. Unfortunately, John decides to begin with quite the opposite of small talk.

 

“Are you and Mycroft still…?”

 

He trails off and Greg knows the space is left for him to fill, but he, instead, downs the rest of his glass. 

 

John still stares at him, waiting patiently for a response and Greg can’t take it anymore, can’t take how quickly John has let Sherlock back into his life after he’s grieved him like a missing limb for three years, can’t take the way Mycroft keeps glancing at him from across the room, pretending to listen to Mrs. Hudson’s advice about herbal soothers. “We’re separated.” Greg wants to add “at the moment” but can’t find the hope to. He turns to John, his back toward Mycroft in the hopes to keep his words from prying ears. “How did you do it, John? How did you forgive Sherlock?”

 

John purses his lips and then glances over at Sherlock who is surprisingly talking civilly with Mycroft. A fond yet pained smile crosses John’s face. “To be honest, I don’t think I have. At least not completely. I - I was horrendously shattered at what I thought to be his heartless attempt to relieve himself of me so he could galavant across Europe and fight Moriarty’s network; but as I listened to him tell me of the horrors he experienced and how he was only trying to keep us safe, my love for him and my pure happiness that he is back diminished my bitterness. One day at a time. Some days are worse than others, mind, but I always come back to how much time we’ve already wasted. I don’t want to waste it anymore.” He smiles sadly at Greg. “I don’t want you to waste time, either. Mycroft had a significant role in all of this mess, but he and Sherlock did it to save the ones they love. I think that’s good enough for forgiveness.”

 

\---

 

Mycroft tries to read John’s lips, but only getting half of the conversation (when the half he actually wants to hear is unavailable) isn’t helping. He feels Sherlock sit next to him on the sofa, purposefully leaving him space but sitting close enough to let Mycroft know he’s there. 

 

“I see Greg didn’t take my return too well.”

 

“I think you know the answer, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock arches an eyebrow at Mycroft communicating that yes, he does know, but he’s attempting to be kind and not deduce a vulnerable Mycroft to shreds. 

 

Mycroft accepts the kindness with gratitude. “He was more affected by my participation in your prolonged absence.”

 

Sherlock nods. “John was livid at first, sometimes he still is, but we’ve been working on actually saying what we feel instead of shielding it from the one we love.”

 

Mycroft scoffs. “Gregory doesn’t have a problem sharing what he feels.”

 

“I wasn’t talking about him.”

 

\---

 

Mycroft bids John and Sherlock farewell and purposefully ignores Greg to prohibit another pained goodbye, but, as he climbs down the steps, he hears another pair of feet follow. 

 

“Myc, wait!”

 

He stills, takes a deep breath to brace himself, and turns toward Greg. 

 

“I’m sorry, Myc. I shouldn’t have freaked out on you. I should’ve let you explain. I was just so hurt and betrayed and I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’m so-”

 

Mycroft quiets him with a gentle press of his lips. He leans back slightly, gripping Greg’s upper arms in a tight hold. “I should be the one apologizing, Gregory, not you.” Mycroft takes Greg’s shocked silence as an opportunity to continue. “I asked you to leave because I was terrified of confronting my own guilt. Gregory, I realize how badly I’ve hurt you, among others, and I can’t help but feel the weight of that responsibility every minute. I’m - I’m terribly sorry.”

 

Greg nods, leans into Mycroft’s hold, and recalls John’s words. “We’ll get through this, one day at a time. Let’s go home, Myc.” 

 

\---

 

Sherlock shuts the door of 221B and turns to smile at a smirking John. “You actually succeeded in getting them back together.”

 

“Hey! Don’t act so surprised. I can be quite convincing when I need to be.”

 

Sherlock wraps his arms around his waist. “Oh? And why were you so set on reuniting them?”

 

John smiles up at him and presses a brief kiss to his lips. “Because you Holmeses would be lost without us.” 


End file.
